<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Swan Song by Greenie (hidetheteaspoons)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27486139">Swan Song</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidetheteaspoons/pseuds/Greenie'>Greenie (hidetheteaspoons)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:53:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,267</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27486139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidetheteaspoons/pseuds/Greenie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Cormoran and Robin are destined for each other, but the path to forever will not be an easy one.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Well, I have undertaken the task of NaNoWriMo 2020, and here is the result! Big thanks to all my friends over at the Denmark Street Discord server, who have been so encouraging and motivating in this process. You all are truly a lovely group of people. HUGE thanks to @BlueRobinWrites for polishing this intro chapter up and making it S H I N E!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>-Emery Allen, Become</em>
</p>
<p>His once hairy chest had been shaved smooth and clean. Her fingers traced the soft skin there ever so gently and she observed the shallow rise and fall of his chest as he took breath after labored breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted his mark, the dark little bird, so similar to her own, that had nestled itself right beside his heart. The bird itself appeared to be resting, its eyes closed, settling into the skin of the man she had come to care so much about.</p>
<p>Robin could hear nothing over the monotonous beeps of the IV drips and the monitor that displayed his breathing and heart rate. They were slow. She could see the screen and the spikes were few and far between. It didn’t take extensive medical training for her to know that the rate at which his heart was beating was unsafe. </p>
<p>His mark took a small, shuddering breath and Robin reached a hand out to it, stroking it. The skin where the mark rested was warm to her touch and the bird twittered and shook, reveling in the feeling. It was nearly devoid of feathers, an ugly little thing, but no less endearing to her. Upon closer inspection, the bird had lost yet another feather that tumbled all the way down Cormoran’s chest, over his stomach, and beneath the stark white hospital sheet. It faded into nothingness.</p>
<p>She pulled back away from him, taking in his grayed complexion, his sallow cheeks, and his oily hair. Her hand found its way to the top of his head as she ran her fingers across his scalp, massaging gently. She had hoped, fiercely, that her touch would somehow ignite some part of him that would realize it was her; That she was here with him, that she was waiting for him to return to her. But there had been no such reaction. She wanted to feel a squeeze of her hand, see a blink of his eyes, or notice a shift in his breathing; anything to let her know that he heard her and was fighting his way back to her. </p>
<p>There was nothing, except the loudest silence she'd ever heard.</p>
<p>
***</p>
<p>When Cormoran Blue Strike entered the world, small and blue - true to his name - and with an umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, the doctors gave him a very small chance to live. But live, he did. </p>
<p>He’d lived through poverty and homesickness, warmth and familiarity. Through abuse and neglect, love and happiness. He’d had a first love, a great love, and now, an unattainable love. He’d lived through gains and losses. He’d gained a partial university education, then lost his mother. Followed by a military career, until he lost his leg. Somehow, he gained a fiance until he’d lost her, then walked away, ending a years-long pattern that had repeated itself more times than he’d like to admit over the course of nearly sixteen years. His latest gain had been the solvency of a semi-successful business. </p>
<p>At least he was on an upswing now, if you could call surviving on beer, cigarettes, and biscuits, and being lonely and in pain all the goddamn time, truly living. As much as Cormoran didn’t miss the army or the combat that came with it, he did miss the camaraderie. At least in the field, he had his army mates, someone to laugh and joke with, to drink and smoke with, and someone to....not be alone with. </p>
<p>As he lay on the camp bed in his musty office on Denmark Street, he didn’t know if he was better off back then, or here and now in his solitude. He supposed he was always better off if he was in a place where he was less likely to lose a limb. Yet, the sense of purpose and the drive and distraction that the army had given him in the wake of his mother’s death, not to mention the multiple fallouts of his relationship with Charlotte, had been exactly what he’d needed. </p>
<p>Now, the only distraction he had was getting his private investigative agency off the ground. The fact that he couldn’t do it alone and he’d had to take a loan from Rokeby, was a hated, but necessary evil for his survival. It had been that or staying with his sister, Lucy, and her husband and their three children. He'd given her a “Thanks, but no thanks,” when she'd offered.</p>
<p>So here he was, dwelling in his place of employment that doubled as at temporary flat, not fully being able to carry out all the things he needed to do in order to live with even a bit of quality of life. But he’d lived through worse, and he’d live through this. He knew it wouldn’t be forever. Things were temporary. This was temporary. This world and the things we did in it and the people we loved in it. It was all subject to disappear. </p>
<p>With one exception: the mark. </p>
<p>Cormoran’s soulmark had appeared at the age of ten. He had a fondness for the little gray bird that occupied the space beside his heart. Like him, it was nondescript. Not ugly, but not beautiful. Never as beautiful as the pure white swan that adorned his mother’s back, that he’d had to identify on the day of her death. The swan had tucked its head into its wing and simply fallen into a deep sleep, its feathers were dull and its body, lifeless. There it would remain on her body until decay took it - and her - away. He shuddered at the thought of that day. It was never something he liked to think about. Yet, it haunted him all the same. </p>
<p>The day he’d discovered his mark had been an average morning in early October. He’d just returned to Cornwall with his mother and Lucy the previous week, only for his mother to leave them once again in the care of their Uncle Ted and Aunt Joan. If he was honest, he preferred Cornwall to London anyway. He had more freedom, greater comfort, and a better life. He could run the fields as free as he wanted and had no responsibilities holding him down. </p>
<p>He didn’t have to watch out for his sister like he did when they were with Leda. There were no strange men lurking about, making eyes at his mother and sometimes his sister. The only things they were in danger of were being bitten by mosquitos and getting a sunburn. Cormoran missed those days when he and Lucy, and sometimes Ilsa and  Dave Polworth, had spent their waking hours on the beach, collecting shells, shouting at gulls, and ducking in and out of the surf. </p>
<p>It had happened on an unseasonably warm day when he headed down to the shore with his fishing pole. Dave had accompanied him and Cormoran had brought a picnic lunch that had been packed by Joan, which included all the sandwiches, lemonade, and biscuits the boys could eat. They’d fished from the wee hours of the morning, into the early afternoon and by one in the afternoon, the sun was high overhead and blazing hot. Cormoran had already removed his jacket and remained soaked in sweat. He’d removed his shirt and returned to fishing, his bare chest growing warmer in the sun. At that moment, several things happened at once; He’d felt a strong tug on his line, and a sharp pain jolted him so hard that he’d dropped his pole and nearly lost it to the sea. Quick-thinking Dave had jumped after it, grabbed onto the handle, and struggled to maintain his grasp, while Cormoran had clutched his side, doubled over in pain. It had felt as though his skin was being spliced open and then sewn back together with a needle and thread. </p>
<p>“Oi, mate! Can ya grab it!?” Dave called, struggling in ankle-deep water to manage Cormoran’s active rod and his own empty one. Cormoran groaned and reached for his rod, barely grasping it with the one hand that wasn’t clutching his side. </p>
<p>“What the bloody hell happened?” Dave called to him, as Cormoran reeled in his catch. With a flash of silver and a wrench of his knife, he freed the large fish and tossed it into the bucket behind them. </p>
<p>“No fuckin’ clue…” he’d murmured, groaning as the pain had finally subsided. “Felt like something was stabbing me in the side.”</p>
<p>“Let me see…” Dave had demanded before erupting, “Fuckin’ hell…Corm, you’ve got your mark!”</p>
<p>“My what?” he said, nonplussed.</p>
<p>“Your mark!” Dave said again, a little louder. </p>
<p>“I heard you the first time, mate, but what do you mean by mark?”</p>
<p>He glanced down and saw that there was a distinctive red mark on his rib cage that he was sure would bruise later. Upon further inspection, there was a small circle of fuzzy black markings that nearly resembled a tattoo. </p>
<p>“You know, for your ‘soulmate,’” his friend teased sarcastically.</p>
<p>“Soulmate?” Cormoran asked in confusion.</p>
<p>“You know, the person you’re supposed to love forever?” </p>
<p>“What are you on about?” Corman shook his head, scoffing.</p>
<p>Dave sighed and sat down in the sand, patting the spot beside him. “Clearly yer mum didn’t teach you anything about adult life.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, no shit…” Cormoran deadpanned. Even at only ten years old, he understood that his mother’s lifestyle was destructive, not only to herself, but to everyone around her.</p>
<p>“Look, everyone gets a mark somewhere on their body. Like a tattoo. No one knows when it will appear. Some are born with it, others get it later on when their soulmate is born. That’s what happened to you. Whoever your soulmate is, they were born today, and they’re gonna have a little bird on them, just like that ugly fucker.”</p>
<p>“Do you have one?” </p>
<p>“Yeah, mate,” Dave confirmed with a casual wave of his hand. “Showed up when I was two, which means, my soulmate’s only a bit younger than me.”</p>
<p>“Well, what’s yours look like? How come you never told me?” Cormoran demanded.</p>
<p>“Because mine’s fucking stupid. It’s a butterfly for Christ’s sake.” he shook his head in disgust, prompting a laugh from Cormoran, who winced in pain, almost immediately.</p>
<p>“Christ, it still hurts.” </p>
<p>“It will for a few days. After that, you won’t even think about it.”</p>
<p>
“Doubtful,” Cormoran muttered under his breath. “I’m done for today,” he groaned, reaching for his shirt.</p>
<p>“So, this,” Corm gestured to the little bird that had made its way up to his chest, as he pulled on his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned, “Is stuck on me permanently? You’re telling me there’s some baby out there right now that I’m gonna get with when I’m older?” he asked derisively. “That’s fucking stupid.”</p>
<p>“You say that now, mate, but we’re talking about the person you have to be with for the rest of your life.” </p>
<p>“Have to? What happens if I don’t?”</p>
<p>Dave shook his head, “I dunno, Corm. Don’t think it’s ever happened where someone wasn’t with their soulmate eventually…” he’d said with ten-year-old wisdom that Cormoran, the grown man, now found laughable. </p>
<p>After packing up the fishing equipment and what was left of the food, Cormoran had returned home to Ted and Joan. Haggard and sore, he’d barely eaten any of his dinner and had put himself to bed immediately afterward. </p>
<p>Though he’d been physically exhausted from the events of his day at the beach, his mind had been racing so fast that he couldn’t keep track of the thoughts. He’d had so many questions about his mark. Why had he gotten it so late in his life? Who was this mysterious person that he was destined to spend his life with? Would he ever have the chance to freely love whomever he wanted? Why hadn’t his mother warned him about this? Did Lucy have a mark? Did Ted and Joan? </p>
<p>It had been some hours before Cormoran had drifted off to sleep, his mind full of wonder. As he’d slipped into unconsciousness, the little bird had tucked its head under its wing and it too had fallen fast asleep. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The first meeting.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi, friends! Here is chapter two - a variation of Strike and Robin's first meeting. </p>
<p>Thank you to the ever-lovely @BlueRobinWrites for beta-ing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“You came to me in a sudden rush</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I wasn’t prepared…”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>-Krae, Crash Into Me</em>
</p>
<p>For as long as she could remember, Robin Venetia Ellacott wanted nothing more than to rid herself of her soulmark. Though she knew what it represented and how important it was, she couldn’t help but think how ugly it was - just a little gray bird that burrowed itself against her chest each night, right beside her heart. It was small and mostly invisible to others, but she was self-conscious about it nonetheless. She was the only one in her family that had been born with her mark. In keeping with the “bird” theme that seemed to plague her existence, her parents had named her Robin and called her “Little Bird” as a nickname because of the mark she bore. </p>
<p>Her brothers had each acquired their marks between the ages of three and five, but only one was happily settled. The others had pursued different dreams - university, friends, and other loves. That was what she’d done as well. </p>
<p>She had met Matthew Cunliffe in secondary school and fell for him immediately. She knew they had different marks, but they decided to try and make it work anyway. After graduating, they’d both gone off to their chosen universities, until Robin had been brutally attacked in her first year. A combination of the attack and the investigation and trial had left her agoraphobic and unable to finish her studies, therefore, she returned home to Masham for the remainder of the term. Matt had been wonderful throughout the entire ordeal, but he wasn’t <em>home.</em> </p>
<p>Matthew had only been at uni for eight months prior to the attack, and during that time, she had watched him thrive. He aced his classes, made decent friends, and had even landed an internship for the summer that had left Robin alone in her misery in Yorkshire. </p>
<p>Even when he had been in Yorkshire with her, he wasn’t <em>really</em> there. He had always been busy calling and emailing people from school, or talking to her about events at his internship, or giving her advice on what she needed to do to get back into school. That year, the summer faded into fall and Robin broke the news that she wouldn’t be returning to uni for her second year. Matthew had seemed mildly disappointed, but supported her. As the holidays progressed and a new year began, Robin saw less and less of her partner. One thing or another always kept him away, but she wasn’t angry about it. As sweet as Matthew had been to her with everything that happened, his manner toward her became frosty very quickly, and she hated to imagine what her recovery would look like had he been there with her, constantly hovering. </p>
<p>Robin’s family had done their best to put her mind at ease. They took care of her. Her brothers distracted her, her mother saw to her every want and need, and her father had signed her up for driving courses. There, she learned to drive the old Land Rover, which set her free. She loved being outside, but didn’t love the anxiety that came with leaving. But Robin had felt most at home in the giant hunk of blue, rusted metal. There’d been days when she and Rowntree, her chocolate lab, would pile into the car with blankets and thermoses of hot tea, and would drive around for hours with the windows down, Robin singing at the top of her lungs, and Rowntree howling along beside her. </p>
<p>Days when she drove had been when she felt free of everything - her attack, her worried parents, and her boyfriend who seemed to think that everything had gone back to the way it was before. This feeling, while driving, was one of two things that remained constant in her life. The other was her soulmark. </p>
<p>As she got older, Robin gradually became more accepting of the mark. She had seen Matthew’s, which was a wolf. The majority of the time, it was curled up fast asleep on his right shoulder. Robin had never gotten used to the wolf and its sharp contrast with her very clear bird. The “duckling” as she’d come to refer to it was constantly there, at her chest. She wondered if it indicated that her soulmate was gray and ugly, but quickly put the thought out of her mind.</p>
<p>She dreamt about them, but never actually saw them. She could picture them in her mind’s eye, but could never come up with the words to describe them. She couldn’t hear them, but felt a connection with them that was unlike any connection she’d had with Matthew. Some days, the little bird looked worse for the wear, other days, he was preening and squawking, and thriving. Over time, he’d grown on her. The older she got, it seemed the less ugly he became, but he was still plain in comparison to some of the marks she’d seen on her friends, who had butterflies, horses, and eagles. </p>
<p>Robin found that the mark fed off of her emotional responses. If she was sad, or nervous, it curled itself up as if it were trying to comfort her. If she was having a good day, he was more active and excited. </p>
<p>Though both Matthew and Robin knew that they weren’t true soulmates, they’d withstood the requirements for an unmatched couple to be together, which included at least a three-year commitment, a promise of marriage, and the willing acceptance that they would never be able to have children of their own. This was the price one paid for not being able to find their soulmate. Most people settled for a happy, childless life with someone, rather than a long, lonely life <em>looking</em> for someone, with the chance that someone may never be found. </p>
<p>Knowing Matt's family and his preferences, it wouldn't be for any foster children or adopted children. He wanted his own flesh and blood, which she knew was an issue from the very beginning. But they hadn’t talked about it. They’d only gotten together as kids themselves, and the conversation never came. Though Robin knew that Matthew would be willing to give it all up for her, she also knew that he would hold it against her for the rest of their lives.</p>
<p>And so, for months, she wrestled with her mind and her heart. Her heart told her to make a clean break from him and go find her soulmate. Her mind told her that there was no one better and that she wasn’t even worthy of him. Yet, there was a constant pull toward someone unknown and Robin wanted to <em>find</em> them.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Robin was reveling in the joy of her engagement to her long-time boyfriend, Matthew. It was a new and wonderful feeling, despite the fact that deep down, she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for marriage. She loved Matt and she knew that despite any misgivings she was having about matrimony, things would work out in their own time. </p>
<p>She awoke early the following Monday morning and went through her usual morning routine: shower, hair, makeup, clothes, coffee, packing a lunch, and packing a bag. She was dressed in a sensible top and skirt, warm tights, and flats. She wanted to look professional, but also feel comfortable on her first day, as she wasn’t exactly sure how far her new, temporary office would be from the tube station.</p>
<p>Robin caught the tube promptly at eight to Denmark Street and looked for the landmark that was on her instruction sheet from Temporary Solutions - The Twelve Bar Cafe. She took a deep breath and yanked hard on the black, metal door that was poorly painted and covered in stickers. Gazing upward, she began the climb to the third floor. After rounding the landing of the second floor, she was greeted by an older, balding man who eyed her suspiciously. As she headed up the second flight of stairs, she paused upon hearing yelling and screaming from the door above. Her eyes widened as she heard a series of thuds and bangs, followed by the door to the office opening and slamming shut again. </p>
<p>A woman with short dark hair, pale skin, and tear-stained cheeks flew past Robin, hurling insults over her shoulder. She paused only momentarily to look at Robin before continuing on down the stairs. <em>So much for an uneventful first day,</em> Robin thought to herself. She sighed and continued up the stairs toward her final destination. However, the next thirty seconds passed by in a blur. Before she reached the door, it opened once more and a large, burly man practically barreled her over. Robin felt herself tip backward and as she did, she grasped for any solid surface she could find, but only air slipped through her fingers. Robin opened her mouth to let out a scream, but her breath caught in her throat and no sound came out. </p>
<p>Before she realized what was happening, she felt a strong hand grab at her, grasping her shirt and a good portion of her left breast. The man had caught her by the shirt at the last second and righted her immediately. Her balance wavered as she leaned forward. Unfortunately, gravity failed her at that moment and she fell hard against his chest with a very unladylike grunt. She felt his hands catch her arms as he leaned backward slightly, taking the force of her hit against him.</p>
<p>When Robin finally stood up straight, her chest was heaving as she attempted to catch her breath. Her eyes widened as she looked at the flight of stairs she had almost fallen down. The staircase seemed much longer than it had been on the way up. Her mind was reeling and she felt dizzy and confused. The man still had a firm grip on her arm and guided her gently toward the open office door. He released her and gestured toward the couch, on which she collapsed with a very flatulent noise beneath her. She winced at the sound, but her eyes opened upon hearing the man’s voice.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice soft and velvety in contrast to his rather rugged-looking exterior. </p>
<p>Robin hesitated slightly, “Ehm,” she looked quickly down at her blouse, which had somehow remained intact despite the force with which he’d grabbed her. “No harm done, from what I can tell.”</p>
<p>Her eyes met his, truly connecting, for the first time in the past minute that they’d been in each other’s presence. He was tall and large, though not in an unpleasant way, nor did his size feel threatening. She did double-take upon looking at his face, which was bleeding in several spots. </p>
<p>She stood up, staring at him, “What about you, your face?”</p>
<p>The man brought a hand to his temple, which was dripping in blood. “Fuck - sorry…” he apologized half-heartedly. </p>
<p>“Do you have a first-aid kit?” Robin asked, “I could,” she offered, gesturing to his temple. </p>
<p>“I...somewhere, yeah. I’m sorry, but you’re not here to help me. I’m Cormoran Strike. What can I do for you?”</p>
<p>“Well, I actually <em>am</em> here to help you...I’m the new temp for the week.”</p>
<p>“Ah...I thought I’d canceled that.”</p>
<p>“Well, here I am...uhmm...” Robin cast a glance around the room. The floor and the desk were littered with papers and a shattered ashtray lay on the floor. “Should I uh...try to clean up a bit, then?”</p>
<p>Cormoran hesitated, then consented. “Yeah, alright. I’ll just...I’ll just be in my office,” he informed her, pointing to a small, narrow hallway along the side of the kitchenette. </p>
<p>She nodded and blew out a stream of air as Strike closed the door behind him and set to work. </p>
<p>Strike collapsed in his office chair and let out a frustrated sigh. Apparently, his office was nothing more than a revolving door for beautiful women today. The morning began with Charlotte nearly killing him with an ashtray and storming out after their row, and continued with him almost pushing his new temporary employee down the stairs. </p>
<p>It had happened in a flash. It took all of ten seconds after Charlotte left for him to run after her, like he always did. Before he could make it down the stairs, he was literally stopped in his tracks by an angel. Not only was she an angel for stopping him from going after Charlotte, but she looked divine. She had long, reddish-gold hair that fell around a heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, and inquisitive deep-blue eyes. They’d been all he could focus on as he ran into her and saw her fall backward. He could see the flash of fear before he’d just barely caught her, and the relief in them when she’d collapsed against him. </p>
<p>It had been quite some time since he’d had a woman in his arms who <em>wasn’t </em>Charlotte; the feeling was relatively new, and yet, not unwelcome. He gave his head a shake at this. He felt incredibly guilty for rowing with his ex, then immediately thinking about the beauty of a woman whose name he didn’t even know. </p>
<p>Cormoran groaned and leaned forward, his head falling into his hands. He hadn't even bothered to ask the girl her name. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Find me on Tumblr @hidetheteaspoons or @thegreendress</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>